


road to the holy grail

by JPuzzle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AFL!AU, Excessive use of Australian slang, F/F, Flirting and Sport, I have no idea what the hell this is, No Angst, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPuzzle/pseuds/JPuzzle
Summary: It’s been fifty years since the Polis City Commanders have won a Grand Final. Lexa’s determined to win it this year and she’s sure as shit not going to let the upstarts from Arkadia beat them for the third time in a row. But first? First they have to finish the season.
Wherein everyone is Australian and plays AFL.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this came from critter-of-habit’s fan art which can be found [here.](http://critter-of-habit.tumblr.com/post/141910755021/anon-requested-a-clexa-soccer-au-but-i-thought) It combined two things that I adore and I caught AFL feelings.
> 
> What is AFL? A very brief explanation can be found [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMZYZcoAcU0)
> 
> Title comes from Hunters & Collectors’ Holy Grail. For reasons inexplicable to the general populus, it's associated with AFL. The song can be heard [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQI5fdVCvlU)
> 
> This may be the most aggressively Australian thing I have ever written. Definitions for slang will be in the end notes. 
> 
> My team lost the Grand Final so I thought I'd post this and cheer myself up. I still don't know what the hell this is. Flirting and sport, let's go with that.
> 
> Many thanks and mad props go to popper for looking at this and making it better. As always, you're a legend among women. 
> 
> Much thanks to critter-of-habit for the inspiration and giving me the go ahead to post this.

_ Started out seeking fortune and glory _

_ It's a short song but it's a hell of a story _

_ When you spend your lifetime trying to get your hands _

_ On the holy grail _

**Hunters & Collectors - Holy Grail**

 

********

 

It’s the last quarter and they’re down by thirty points. It’s the final game of the season and they’re definitely in the finals  but damn it, Polis is playing  _ Arkadia _ and there’s history there - like all good rivalries, they’ve played each other twice on the last weekend in September in back to back years and  _ twice _ Arkadia has thumped them. Polis hasn’t won a grand final in fifty years but it’ll be different this year, Lexa cannot and will not lose to these mouth breathing dickheads. Thirty points and they have less than ten minutes on the clock to make up the deficit and fucking Octavia keeps elbowing Monroe in the face or the ribs when she goes to mark the ball. Lexa would be fine with that if only she was  _ discreet _ about it. She’s given away so many free kicks that Lexa’s pretty sure Octavia is the reason they’re down by thirty. She’s already been reported and she’s likely to cop a spray from Indra when she gets back into the changing rooms and Lexa can’t say that she blames her - Octavia definitely won’t be playing next week and, with her record, probably won’t see another game until the Grand Final -  _ if _ they get there.

Tensions are running high and they're  _ thirty points down _ and Polis hasn’t even come near their forward half. They’re going to lose and Lexa wants to punch something - she settles for bumping against her cocky-as-fuck counterpart when the umpire is looking the other way. Clarke Griffin is a legend, she sledges the forwards she’s up against and, even though she's a defender, she’s constantly tallying votes for best on ground. Clarke is also, much to Lexa’s chagrin, intelligent, witty and extremely beautiful. Lexa has played her worst game all season tonight because she can’t bloody concentrate.

Clarke seems to pick up on it because she’s  _ smiling. _ She’s not even pissed; she just raises an eyebrow and says “I didn’t think the captain was supposed to chuck a wobbly because her team can’t play for shit.”

_ Fuck’s sake, _ Lexa really doesn’t know whether or not she wants to kiss her or discreetly elbow her in the boobs. Instead, she jostles against the defender, sets her jaw and grinds out “There’s still time and you can’t hold me all quarter - aside from you, your back line is utter crap. All it takes is one good passage of play and we’re back in it.”

Clarke throws her head back and laughs and it’s all Lexa can do to keep her eyes on the small burst of red being handballed at the other end of the field. She just has to keep her eyes on the ball, her team mates and make mental notes on where they can improve for next week. She watches Echo fumble with the ball and laments - they worked on clean hands all week and this is the kind of shit that loses games. Fuck, it loses Grand Finals. They need to be better than this. Indra’s going to be furious when they go over the vision.

She’s so deep in keeping an eye on the play that she starts when Clarke speaks up again, needling her, “Who won the Grandy, Lexa? Arkadia got the silverware. We beat your mob.”

She watches as Blake, in Arkadia’s fifty, wraps Monroe up in a tackle and slams her into the ground with a degree of relish that Lexa should find disturbing. If she’s not careful, Octavia’s gonna give away another free. Lexa’s not paying attention to the defender, not when there’s a game to monitor.

“If I remember right, you made the highlight reel too that day. Made for entertaining television.” 

She’s just going to let Griffin talk until she runs out of steam. They’re just words, words are harmless. She’s not even going to look at Clarke. She’s going to keep her eyes on the ball. 

“Eddie busted a gut laughing. I reckon they replayed it three times on the live broadcast. Got it from every angle. I think the Footy Show added sound effects later. How many people d’you reckon saw that?”

Lexa’s eyes slide sideways and she grimaces noting the smirk on Clarke’s face. It’s noticed and she goes in for the kill.

“No offence but based on past performances, I reckon I’ve got you well held mate.”

A Polis player - Caris, she thinks, gets wrapped up in a tackle in their defensive half and the umpire blows his whistle, crossing his arms over his chest and calling for a ball up. She’s not going to let Clarke bait her, it could’ve happened to anyone and the media likes to make a meal of a second’s worth of footage. She’s not going to rise to it, she’s not, she’s going to be the bigger person, she’s going to-

“Eddie’s a bigot, The Footy Show is full of racist, sexist tossers and mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke”

“Is kicking straight? ‘cause you keep hitting the post. We’re what, thirty up?”

Lexa feels, rather than sees, the elbow playfully nudge into her side. Ten minutes to go and she may die, surrounded by the roar of the crowd, in Polis’ forward fifty being sassed by a blonde hellion. If she’s going to die, she’s going to die having gotten in the last word.

“Teams have come back from higher deficits, Clarke.”

She counts to ten in her head, swearing as the ball moves from the defensive half through the centre of the ground.  _ They might have a chance. _ She breaks into a run, jostling against Clarke for front position. Anya’s got the ball and she’s steamrolling towards her and they need the momentum back their way. It’s a perfectly placed kick, a drop punt aimed squarely at where she’s leading to. They’ve practiced this so many times in training and when Lexa was little, all she needs to do is spread her fingers wide, stretch out and- she feels the sting of the leather and the thud of the ball hit her hands as she reacts instinctively, pulling the sherrin close to her chest. The sea of green in front of the goals roar their approval - clapping and waving flags and the two gigantic pom poms of deep green and pale green slowly wave up and down in front of the goals.

Nine minutes to go, she’s forty five out and on a slight angle. She can do this. She can. Lexa goes back on the line and stops, slowing her breathing, making it steady and even. She ignores the players deep in the goal square leading for her and makes the mistake of glancing at Clarke. The defender’s doing jumping jacks and pulling bizarre faces to throw Lexa off of her game and it’s kind of working.

“Ten gone, Woods,” the umpire calls, a reminder of the shot clock. Lexa bends down, pulls up her socks and, rotating the ball once, she begins her run up, her breathing is steady and she has this,  _ she can do this. _

The sherrin leaves her hands and connects with her boot. It’s textbook perfect and she knows it’s gone through before the goal umpire is waving his two white flags. The crowd is beside themselves, a banner in the stands with her likeness, her number and “ _ Got the Woods on you. _ ” is waved furiously and her team mates come crashing into her, jubilant, Octavia whooping in her ear as Lexa points at Clarke and winks.  _ Suck on that, Griffin. _

Eight minutes left on the clock. In the back of her mind, Lexa knows that the chances of winning this, winning the game in eight minutes and coming back from a twenty four point deficit is almost impossible. But,  _ but _ stranger things have happened.

The game resets, the umpires sprinting back to the centre of the ground handballing the sherrin between them. Clarke comes up and elbows her in the small of her back. Lexa can feel her lips curve involuntarily, she's got the blonde frustrated and she can work with that.

“You were saying about kicking straight?”

Clarke huffs, “Y’know, for a forward who’s managed to kick more points than goals in this whole game, you’re a cocky shit.”

Lexa would savour this, she would. She's been bantering with Griffin all night and this is the first visible sign that she's gotten anywhere. But Anya's just palmed the ball down to Emori who handballs it off to Echo and then links back up to kick it down the ground to Octavia who is single-mindedly sprinting down the ground, bouncing the ball every so often. She's evaded Monroe's sloppy attempt at a tackle and shrugged off Harper's attempt with a shove of her free hand - the perfect ‘don't argue’. Lexa doesn't have time to savour it, there's seven minutes left and they might  _ win _ this. She edges back, walking her opponent back to the goal square, shielding her view of Octavia.

Lexa turns and looks Griffin in the eye. She can’t quite repress the savage grin with way too many of her teeth showing to be considered friendly, “You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Clarke. I know I've had the yips today but Blake? She's definitely been kicking straight.”

She says it just as the ball leaves Octavia's boot. Clarke doesn't have a chance to leave Lexa and help Monroe defend and all she can do is curse and watch the sherrin sail straight over her head and through the goal posts.

Eighteen points down, six minutes and thirty seconds to go.

The Arkadia supporters have been stunned into silence but Polis’ fans? The green army are in force, it’s their home game and after three relatively quiet quarters, they're making their presence known.

The long, slow chant of Po-lis is taken up by the green army and it echoes around the oval as Anya wins the tap again. This time she takes the ball down and, through congestion, boots it down the ground. It's a long ball, landing on the wing - ten meters away and tumbling end-over-end towards the boundary line. Lexa doesn't think; she just runs at the sherrin not even bothering to check where Clarke is. She can see Niylah in her periphery as she lunges desperately, skidding across the boundary and into the barrier and slapping the ball away from the line keeping it firmly in play. Lexa wheezes as Clarke trips and slides into her and can only watch, winded. Niylah takes the ball and handballs to Octavia who gives and goes back to Niylah. The midfielder takes the sherrin and kicks down the wing with pinpoint accuracy to Emori and then Emori, wasting no time, runs - shimmying away from Trina's attempt to tackle, fifteen out with Bragg hot on her heels and then ten meters, twisting out of Bragg's grasp, getting boot to ball for a quick snap around the corner to score.

Twelve points down. Five minutes on the clock as Lexa gingerly struggles back to her feet and offers her hand to an irate, Clarke Griffin who turns away and pointedly uses the barrier to stand and steady herself, glaring at a Polis supporter who has a few pointed things to say about Arkadia and their players. Griffin stares him down and tells him exactly where he can shove his opinion.

They walk side by side and hands on hips into Polis’ fifty and by the time they get there, Lexa feels less like she's fighting to breathe. She can't figure out if she's still winded or whether there's something incredibly hot about Griffin yelling at her teammates to lock everything the fuck down and woman up. Both, probably both. Arkadia has the ball in their possession, soaking up time on the clock and content to play kick to kick as the fans roar their disapproval.

Four minutes thirty seconds and Lexa is so  _ frustrated, _ they’re twelve points down. Four minutes and twenty seconds to go and Arkadia’s slowing down the tempo, Blake can’t land a tackle and Polis’ players are left jumping awkwardly on their mark while their opponents play kick to kick. The muscle in her jaw twitches and she bumps against Griffin as they watch the ball move back and forth

“Reckon you’ll make the papers with that. Media likes a headline and verbally abusing a fan is like brandishing a red flag at a bull. What d’you think? ‘Griffin’s fury as Arkadia falls?’ I’m not a journalist but it’s catchy enough.”

Clarke scowls and, yeah, there’s definitely something incredibly hot about a pissed off Clarke Griffin. Her hair is coming loose and if looks could kill, Lexa would be stone cold dead on the ground. She can’t quite find it in herself to give a flying fuck as the blonde manages to loom over her.

“Counting your chickens before they hatch? Your team kicks a couple of goals and suddenly you think you can piss this in.”

Clarke keeps moving forward and Lexa can’t help but back backwards. She’s getting up in Lexa’s face and all Lexa can do is swallow and stare at the defender’s lips.

“We’ve held you all game, Woods. I’ve kept you to two goals and five points. You average five goals a game, Lexa.  _ Five. _ ” 

Griffin’s punctuating each word with a jab of her finger and Lexa can’t think - she’s forgotten where she is and what she’s supposed to be doing. Her brain is stuck on a loop of  _ ClarkeClarkeClarkeClarke. _

“The worst they can do is get me to apologise, put me in a media class and slap me on the wrist. Meanwhile, we’ll win this game and the minor premiership and we’ll see your lot in the finals.”

Lexa’s not sure that she cares. She can barely take in what Clarke’s saying - she’s stopped moving backwards and the defender is looming over her. It's an achievement; Griffin is shorter than her. In the periphery, she thinks she can hear an umpire calling their names.

“You’ll lose this game, Blake’s gonna get at least a week and you’ll have to go into the finals without her. You’ll lose against us  _ again." _

Griffin is so close that Lexa could just lean forward and kiss her. It would be so easy.

The umpire standing near them finally intervenes, “Lexa! Clarke! Break it up. I don’t wanna see either of your two go the biff. We don’t need another melee - particularly not one that involves two captains.”

She feels a hand on her shoulder, trying to tug her away and Lexa almost turns - almost tells the umpy that he's got the wrong end of the stick but she can't, she's stuck staring into those blue, blue eyes and she can't move a muscle.

The shrill sound of a whistle shatters their bubble and Griffin backs off. Lexa takes a moment to remember how to breathe. The whistle didn’t come from this end of the ground. Which means it had to have come from the other end and in all likelihood-

_ Damn it. _

Lexa closes her eyes and hopes like hell that Octavia hasn’t bloody gone and decked someone  _ again. _ Miraculously, the whistle isn’t for Blake. _ Will wonders ever cease? _ Bragg’s stepped off her mark and Anya’s got her wrapped up in a tackle before she can get the ball away. The thunderous cry of “Ball!” echoes around the ground and the crowd roars their approval as the umpire affirms their call.

Four minutes to go and Polis has the ball back. Four minutes to go and they’re twelve points down. Two goals to draw and all the players on the field are flooding down into Polis’ offensive half. Through traffic, Anya’s managed to handball it to Octavia who passes it to Emori. It’s miraculous, really. Emori seems to have remembered what clean hands actually means, she palms the ball off to Niylah and a pack forms sixty-five meters out. Lexa’s covered by Griffin and Trina and she hopes to the footy gods that Niylah won’t try it. She doesn’t. Instead, she looks to her left and sees Ontari calling for the ball all alone fifteen meters in front of her and forty out. She takes the smart option and chip kicks to Ontari who marks and plays on immediately, Arkadia’s defenders quickly moving to lock her down and force a turnover. Ontari kicks and the sherrin curves to the left, Lexa’s heart is in her mouth for a moment before the red ovular ball goes through for a goal. She runs over to Ontari and high fives her. They can do this.

Six points down. Two minutes to go. She can feel the frission of tension rolling through the players, the silence in the crowd; she can see it in the stiffness of Griffin's back.

“You might need to eat those words, y’know. A goal and a point in three minutes isn’t that much of an ask.”

“Yeah, nah, I reckon you’re dreaming if you think you’re gonna win this. I mean, I spose it’s not much of an ask but I think it might be beyond you lot.”

There’s a natural pause in the conversation, both of them watching the ball down the ground before Lexa feels Clarke lean into her, feels the puff of breath against her ear as the defender lowers her voice and speaks again “Besides, words don’t sound that appetising. Reckon there are other things I’d rather taste.”

For a moment, Lexa's brain goes blank and all she can hear is her heart pounding in her chest and a ringing in her ears. All she can think about is Clarke and bugger the football game playing out in front of her. She almost doesn’t register Clarke pushing past her to take an easy chest mark and, for a second, she’s not sure that she cares.

And then she hears someone bellowing her name from the centre of the ground, “Lexa!” She thinks it might be Anya, “You're as useless as tits on a bull. Will you keep it in your bloody pants for five minutes and go after the ball.  _ For fuck’s sake. _ ” Shit, that's definitely Anya. Lexa's so fucked after the game. 

The ringing in her ears slowly fades and, tearing her eyes away from her furious sister, she sees Clarke smirking and rotating the ball in her hands. Lexa stares at her dumbfounded as Griffin hands the ball off to Trina. Lexa blinks as the blonde laughs and winks, brushing up against her and rasping “Gotcha.”

Trina passes the ball back to Clarke and there’s less than minute left on the clock and Lexa, with the help of Blake and Echo manages to put the pressure on until the defender hands off to Fox who fumbles and handballs to space before Trina runs to retrieve it, Anya and Emori chasing her down as she gets the ball away back to Griffin. Lexa crowds her, chasing after her until Sienne and Emori show up, piling the pressure on the defender until all she can do is retreat into the goal square and then rush the ball through for a behind. Five points down. One goal and they win. One goal and they’re top of the ladder going into the finals. Five points down and they have to recover the ball.  _ They can do this. _

Lexa feels tense - she feels like a piece of wire stretched to breaking point and the crowd's silence amplifies it. Five points down and the clock is ticking ever closer to the siren. All of the players are in Polis’ half of the ground for the kick out. Clarke has stopped talking, is a meter away from her bumping and pushing against Octavia as Trina kicks the ball in - it's a terrible kick, high and slowly floating in the air and Lexa realises in a moment of startling clarity that it's heading towards them, a pack forming around Clarke. Time slows and all she can hear is the steady thud of her heart and the rushing in her ears as she takes two steps and  _ leaps. _ She feels her knees land on Griffin's shoulders as she stretches out, her feet kicking off of Clarke’s back and her arms over her head as her fingers spread and palms open. The red leather thuds against them, her grip tight as she pulls the ball to her chest and then, losing her balance, topples backwards and lands on her back. The air leaves her lungs in a whoosh of breath and her head thuds against the ground and jars all thought out of her. 

How long do they have to go? How long left on the clock? She's lost count and she's marked the ball well within her range. She’s thirty out and on a tricky angle. How many seconds are left in the game? The siren sounds, blaring like a foghorn and the crowd is silent as Lexa shakily takes Anya’s proffered hand and stands, bending to pick the ball up one-handed.

“Lexa,” Anya’s beside her, a hand on her shoulder as she stares at the goals “You can do this. Don’t think about it, just kick it.”

Lexa nods, she barely hears the words but they steady her as Anya jogs to the goal square.  Lexa takes a deep breath, feeling her shoulders rise with the effort as she takes her mouthguard out and tucks it into the fold of her sock, bending to pull them both up. Clarke is standing on the mark, her face red and her expression stony. No matter what her feelings for the defender are, in this moment they are weakness and Lexa tucks them away - this is war and feelings have no place here, she has to do this for her club, for the fans, for her people. Her breaths come steady and even as she begins her run up, her steps stuttering as she drops the ball and goes through the motions, feels the sherrin connect with her boot, sees Clarke half-heartedly jump in an attempt to smother, feels time slow as the ball arcs - it’s a mongrel kick and it curves and wobbles, she feels her heart thudding against her chest and a rushing in her ears and Lexa bends sideways, watching the ball drunkenly bend towards the goal posts, watches as the pack at the goal square try and get a hand on it, sees it soar over their heads and sees the umpire, clad in lime green watch the ball and straighten her back and signify a goal.

The sea of green in the stands  _ erupts _ as Polis’ anthem starts blaring in the tinny speakers of the ground. Her team mates come from all sides and someone, she thinks it's Octavia, jumps on her and rides her into the ground; all of them crashing on top in a dogpile as they yell in celebration. They’ve won the minor premiership, they’ve won after the siren and Lexa feels like she could fight the world.

Eventually, her team mates let her up, the fans taking up the slow chant of Po-lis and steadily alternating it with the deep rumbling echo of Woods around the ground. The atmosphere is electric as she slowly makes her way to the Arkadian players, shaking their hands and exchanging commiserations and congratulations on a game well-played.

Lexa saves their captain for last, striding purposefully towards her and extending her hand to shake.

Clarke grips her forearm gently and smiling says, “You got lucky, Woods. That last kick was a mongrel but you got the job done. It’ll be good to see you again in the finals. The draw will be a cracker, the tossers from the mountain finally managed to get a guernsey.”

Lexa feels her world narrowing, she can’t hear the echo of the crowd - still cheering after five minutes, can’t hear the Polis anthem being played on repeat or the jubilation of her team or the media interviewing her team mates - all she can see is the blonde defender and she wants to live in this moment.

“We’re on the opposite side of the draw, y’know. Reckon we might see each other again before the finals are through.” It’s a challenge, a flirtation and a statement of fact all rolled into one and Griffin knows it - she knows it and she laughs, squeezing Lexa’s forearm again as she says “Well then,  _ Commander, _ may we meet again in the finals.” 

Lexa takes and steadies herself and screws up her courage - it’s the most stressful thing she’s done all day and that includes the goal minutes earlier. But she knows Clarke is going and she wants to see her again. If she doesn't, they won't meet for weeks after, maybe not even then. “When do you leave?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, “Tomorrow night, Kane’s been fighting Pike about our recovery going into Finals.” She uses her spare hand to motion over at the media hovering, waiting to talk to Lexa. “Looks like they want a word with you though and I need to go back to the rooms and cop a spray from Kane.”

Lexa feels the smile stretch across her face and something in her softens as she says “May we meet again in the Finals, Clarke. You played well today.”

Clarke laughs and lets go of her hand and turns to make her way to the changing rooms. Lexa watches her go and makes to move towards the reporter, barely taking two steps before she hears the defender call her name and stop.

“Hey Lexa? Meeting in the Finals, it could be a while away. If at all. Call me tomorrow and I’ll try not to hold the loss against you. You’re buying.”

Lexa nods and she feels out of breath as she turns to the reporter. He’s smiling politely and she feels euphoria bloom in her chest. Lexa barely hears him as he introduces her and talks a little about the game before he turns to Lexa and she just catches the question, “You had a rough three quarters of football - Griffin looked like she had you well held, what changed?”

She almost laughs as she glances at Clarke’s retreating figure before responding “Well, y’know. She played a really good game but at the end of it, I think we got lucky and I got the drop on her.” The interview continues and after a minute of banter and analysis, she’s released.

Lexa slowly walks over to Anya and nods at her, slinging an arm over the ruck woman’s shoulder and smiling as they walk around the ground. Lexa allows herself to soak up the scene - her team is still celebrating, jogging around the ground to hand out miniature footballs and clap their fans on. They’ve won the game and the minor premiership, they’re in the finals and she has a date with Clarke tomorrow. They can win the whole thing and she’ll lead them to it.  _ They can do this.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Slang used: 
> 
> To cop a spray: To be yelled at. 
> 
> Umpire: A referee
> 
> To chuck a wobbly: To throw a tantrum
> 
> Clean Hands: To not fumble with the ball, to dispose of the ball cleanly
> 
> Grandy: Grand Final - the Australian equivalent to the Super Bowl. 
> 
> Silverware: The premiership cup which looks like [this.](http://neoskosmos.com/news/sites/default/files/2013/September/premiership%20cup.jpg)
> 
> Eddie: Eddie referenced is Eddie McGuire. A commentator and president of Collingwood FC. He’s known for saying sexist, racist and generally shitty things.
> 
> To bust a gut: To laugh until you’re wheezing, basically.
> 
> The Footy Show: An AFL show broadcast on Channel 9. It’s been running for as long as I can remember and it usually makes the press because the hosts do something sexist, racist or generally assholic.
> 
> Sherrin: An Australian Rules football. It's ovular and apparently unique in its shape. Can be yellow, red or, in the woman’s round - pink. Looks like [this.](https://shopdesq.imgstg.com/assets/shopdesq/products/images/KB%20Football%20red%20400.jpg)
> 
> To piss something in: To win easily, without worry
> 
> Go the biff: To fight
> 
> Ball: Usually yelled by the crowd when they think that the player is “holding the ball” or if the ball has not been disposed of correctly.
> 
> Umpy: Umpire
> 
> Wrong end of the stick: The wrong idea about a situation.
> 
> Yeah, nah: No.
> 
> You’re dreaming: Basically, it’s unrealistic.
> 
> As useless as tits on a bull: Useless. Incompetent.
> 
> Get a guernsey: To get a go - in this case, the mountain are through to the finals. They have a chance, basically
> 
> **
> 
> If anyone wants to yell about clexa or has any concrit or wants to know what the hell this one shot is or wants to talk about AFL, come poke me on tumblr @jixorpuzzle.


End file.
